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“I just—I missed the last bus, and if Grace didn’t hit the bottle hard tonight, she’s going to be waiting for me, so…”
He sighs. “Yeah, okay. We can go.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Shit, I’m terrible.
Devon sits up, and I push my bra and shirt back into place while he fixes his pants, then feel around for my own shorts on the floor and pull them on.
He holds out my shoes, and I take them from him. I can tell he wants me to say something, but even though I feel the need to fill the silence, I can’t. I set them on the floorboard, then lean forward, place a hand on the back of his neck, and kiss him, sliding my tongue past his lips, letting it linger for a few seconds before I pull away. He leans forward and rests his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at me that just…it hits me right in the gut. And he justfeelsdifferentthan other people. I don’t know how to describe it other than that it’s something that feels familiar.
I guess that’s why it was him.
I wait only a second before I break away from his gaze and slip into my shoes. Then, I go for the door handle, step out of the car, and retrieve my bag from where I’d dropped it in the parking lot. I hear the car start behind me, then a Slayer song blaring from the speakers before I get into the passenger seat.
“Can you drop me off at the bus stop?” I ask. “Do you know where it is? I’m not supposed to be in cars with people, and there’s a doorbell camera.”
“Yeah, Ally. I know where it is.”
He’s so fucking beautiful. I hope it doesn’t hurt him when he realizes this can’t ever happen again. But…he’s a guy. He’ll be fine, right?
The thought of it makes me feel like there’s a vice around my chest. I want to touch him again, but I don’t. Instead, I rest my head on the center console, and fingers run through my hair for the rest of the short drive. I close my eyes and wonder how long it’s been since someone touched me like this—out of kindness. I hope he doesn’t see me cry.
I get my shit together when I see the car turn into my neighborhood, stopping just a few seconds later.
I sit up and look at him. Again, I feel like I should say something, but all that comes out is, “Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” he says.
Then, I practically throw myself from the car.
Somehow, despite the vice crushing my chest, I manage the walk back to the house. I step inside the unlocked front door, pleased to see that Grace did have too much to drink tonight and passed out on the couch, as she tends to do when Mark isn’t here. I tiptoe past her to the staircase, set my bag on the floor in my bedroom, and head straight for the shower.
I turn on the water, letting it warm as I strip down. I pull the shower curtain closed and let it wash over me, rinsing his scent and any other evidence from my skin. Then, I sit down at the bottom of the tub and remove the small razor blade I hid in the soap bar a day before. I turn it over in my fingers and look down at the marks lining the inside of my thighs, trying to pick a side.
It takes me a little longer than usual. I realize that—for the first time in a long time—I just don’t want to.
Iwake up to my alarm the next morning feeling like I have a hangover. What happened instead was I probably got around two hours of interrupted sleep on an empty stomach. I roll out of bed, and my heart stops when I look down and realize I slept in Devon’s hoodie. What was I thinking? What if she’d seen it? I pull it over my head, taking a moment to let it linger near my nostrils before stashing it between my mattress and the box spring. I can hear Grace moving around downstairs, so I won’t risk getting into my treasure box right about now. I pull on a pair of straight-legged jeans that are at least one size too big for me and pair them with a long-sleeved black t-shirt. All of my clothes are plain like this. I remember a time when that bothered me, but it doesn’t bother me at all now.
I comb out my thick, straight hair, brush my teeth, grab my bag, and head for the side door, slowing down but not stopping in the kitchen.
Grace hands me a bagel and says, “They probably won’t send him to school. He may not even be living on the island now.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I tell her.
“Either way, you stay away from him. If I find out otherwise…”
“I will,” I say, then head out the door.
On the bus, I begin to wonder the same thing—will they send him to school? He missed the end of junior year, and his dad and Darci’s mom divorced. I don’t even know if his dad still lives on the island. I know I’d want to get the hell out of here if I were him. It’s also possible he moved in with his mom.
When I get to school, I go to my locker and apply just a tiny bit of the lipstick I was gifted months ago, just as I do every day, and head to first period art class. I get an answer to my question fairly quickly.
This classroom is always loud, especially with the new art teacher being super laid back, but all the sound dissipates once Devon enters the room. You can feel the shift in energy, the shift of attention to the front of the classroom. He hands Mr. Ames a slip of paper.
“Okay, everyone. Looks like we have a new student. Devon…West. If you’d like to introduce yourself to the class, be my guest. Otherwise…go ahead and take your seat.”
“Oh, I’m not new.You’renew,” Devon says to the teacher before turning to the class. “I think you all know who I am. I’m Devon. And I missed a bunch of school because I was arrested for a crime Ididn’t commit…all because that girl right there didn’t want people to know she was fucking me.”
